An Abundant Harvest

I'm almost always the last one to jump on the bandwagon, whatever that bandwagon may be.  The computer bandwagon, the email bandwagon, the cell phone bandwagon, the blog bandwagon, the Facebook bandwagon, the Pinterest bandwagon (all technology related, I know) and now the fresh, organic, local, delicious produce bandwagon.  The fresh, organic, local, delicious produce bandwagon to which I refer is called Abundant Harvest Organics.

Several of my friends have been participating in Abundant Harvest for over a year now, and I've finally joined in.  The person that finally gave me that last boost up onto the wagon was this amazing piece of fabulousness:

No, wait.  That's not the photo I was after.  Try this one:

There we go.  This is my friend, Susan, who is the captain of my walking team, Team Safe at Second.  She also happens to be the author of this little-known-yet-impressive blog, entitled Cooking Out of the Box.  In my humble opinion, it's the best foodie blog out there.  Susan combines humor and wit with a thousand one delicious and nutritious ways to use all of the produce that comes from, yes, the box.  Check it out.  She cracks me up.

So, I jumped on the Abundant Harvest bandwagon, and Tuesday I picked up my first box of local, organic produce:

I was so excited.  It felt like Christmas morning!  Minus the sleep deprivation, angst, and stress.  Yes, just like that.

"Oooooooooo, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh," I oooed and ahhhed.

Look at this!  So beautiful!  My mouth watered as I unpacked it all.  Especially when looking at these ruby red, vine-ripened tomatoes.  There's nothing better.

The one thing I hadn't thought of, though, was that if it came straight from the farm, then it probably had to be washed.  Some of it was covered in dirt! So Diego and I spent about an hour washing, drying, and packaging it all to put in the fridge, or at least on the counter.  I felt just like my Mormon pioneer ancestors, washing the dirt off of my own fruits and vegetables.  Minus the 3 month walk across the plains and the heat exhaustion and frostbite that came along with it, plus the fact that they didn't really have any fruits and vegetables to speak of.  I think they ate grubs along the way.  At least they had plenty of sister-wives to help catch them.

As a reward for helping, Diego got to try the first plum.

Deeee-licious!  Sweet and juicy!


In a text later on, when Susan asked about the box, I said,

"I already feel healthier."

"And even a little virtuous."

She replied, "You look it too."

Then:

"Oh.  Well you look healthier anyway."

Heating up the Hot Heat

A couple of weeks ago, a lovely blogger who is known as JCK and pens the blog, Motherscribe, posed the question, "How do you split up the family work in your home?"   For this topic, she was writing for The Huffington Post.  Yes, you heard me.  Side note:  I have actually met JCK in person, so this makes me feel almost famous.  She is lovely and well-spoken and sweet, but rocks the fishnets like no other, and enjoys her Jack o'clock now and again.

Back to the question:  How do you split up the family work in your home?

This one's easy.  I do it all, and nobody else does anything.

The End.

Kidding!  

One of the very best parts of coming out of the closet and accepting myself as myself is the fact that I no longer feel guilted or pressured into falling within traditional and expected gender roles.  And dammit I can whole-heartedly embrace my love for Madonna without shame.  I don't feel bad that I don't know how to fix the car.  I feel wonderful that I am terrible at assembling things like bookshelves or bikes.  I love that I can vacuum and cook and not once have to use a drill, although I have a few times, and it hasn't been so bad.  So I do what I'm comfortable with, and what I enjoy, Giancarlo does the same (he does all the laundry, and he's much handier than I am) and we pay someone to do whatever the two of us can't do.  It works out splendidly. (Although, would it kill him to clean a toilet?)

Funny, true story that happened this week:

During dismissal at my school, a lady in the parking lot was waving over to a group of us teachers standing in front of the school.  She kept yelling, "The guy!  The guy!"  It took everyone a second that she was referring to me.  "My car!  It not work!  The guy!"

Chuckling, I said under my breath, but loud enough for my all female work friends to hear, "That's funny.  All these girls here probably know more about cars than this guy does."  But I humored her, and my friends walked into the school because it was like 17,000 degrees outside.

English was not this woman's first language, nor was Spanish.

"It hot!"

"Yes, it sure is!" I replied.  Did she call me over to talk about the weather?

"My car hot too.  So I turn on heater."

"You turned on the heater?  Do you mean the air conditioner?" I asked.

"No, I turn on heater.  It make car cool."

I was befuddled as to how I was going to help those imploring eyes.

Then she pointed to the temperature gauge on the dashboard.  The engine was on its way to overheating, although it was not yet in that red zone.

"My father-in-law, he say to turn on heat when car get hot.  Then it no get hot more."

I thought this was preposterous. 

"I don't know much about cars.  But I wouldn't be turning on the heater.  It's 110 degrees out here," I pronounced wisely, as a drip of sweat trickled down my butt crack.

Now it was her turn to be befuddled.  A guy who didn't know about cars?  Unheard of, apparently.  "What I do?  I drive home?"

The school boundaries were not that big.  So I said, "I would."

"Uh, very well, thank you."

In the office, my friends were eager to know what this lady wanted with me, "the guy."

I recounted the story and we all had a good laugh.  The absurdity of it all...calling ME over, of all people, and then turning on the heater in the scorching desert sun to make the car cool down!  Bah!

That night I got a text from Lisa, one of the friends I was laughing with.  Turns out, her husband knows about cars, and turning on the heat to cool and overheated engine is EXACTLY what you should do.

I guess the laugh was on me!  I hope that poor lady's engine didn't explode. 

What Do You Do?

What do you do when your twenty two year old child refuses to take responsibility for herself?  What do you do when she takes advantage of you, uses you, and manipulates you because she knows you are willing to give her yet another chance to get herself pulled together?  What do you do when she refuses to get a job and sits around all day long talking on the phone, playing Facebook games, and smoking pack after pack after pack of Camel Menthol Silvers?  What do you do when she hoards half of the dishes from the kitchen in her room and on the balcony in spite of the times that you've asked her politely, and not so politely, to keep the dishes in the kitchen?  What do you do when you discover that she packs her backpack with those dirty dishes in hopes of hiding them from you? What do you do when she refuses to take part in family activities, such as dinner?  What do you do when, after weeks of suspecting it, find out without a doubt that she has been stealing money--hundreds of dollars--from your wallet and your desk?  What do you do when this kind of behavior has been going on for ten years, when she's dragged you and the rest of the family to hell and back over and over and over again?  What do you do when she tells you that she is moving to Kentucky to live with a man who is five months older than you, that she met online, but hasn't actually met in person?

You let her. That's what you do.  

My Fuzzy Mother and a Fuzzy Baby Me

As far as I know, this photograph is the oldest one in existence of my mother and me.  Until last month, I had never seen it, but thanks to an aunt that to whom I reconnected at a family reunion, it is now in my possession.  And I'm so thrilled to have it.

I know the quality isn't the best.  In fact, look at me!  I look like a fuzzy blob of a baby.  How old would you say I am here?  Newborn?  One month?

But my mom...look at her.  So fuzzy young and radiant, and thrilled because she just knew I would be the best son ever in the whole wide world.  And I must admit, I have been a pretty good son to her.  All except for that time that I bit myself and blamed it on my sister, causing my mom to spank her, and then repeating that each day for several days.  I also wasn't such a great son when I made her cry about her poor housekeeping skills, on more than one occasion.  Yeah, that wasn't so nice either.  Then there was the time when I came out of the closet during the last few months of her life, not giving her a chance to even process the information before her mind was too far riddled with cancer to properly sort things out.

I'm sure, though, if she were still around, she would have come to the conclusion that she loves me no matter what, and I'm certain that she would count Giancarlo as her son-in-law just like she counted Katrine's husband as her son-in-law.  That's just the kind of mom she was.

Which leads me to, yes, some of you have guessed it, another shameless fundraising plug for my upcoming 3-day, 60 mile walk in the San Diego Susan G. Komen 3-Day for a Cure event in November!

I need to submit a $2,300 donation in order to participate in the event.  So far, thanks to the kindness and generosity of many of you, I have raised $1,300.00 and I am at 57% of my goal.

I don't have to tell you that breast cancer reaches its cold, bony fingers into the lives of everyone.  I'm sure you could name off the top of your head right now somebody who is fighting it.  Chances are, you have someone in your family that has died from this relentless disease.

So please, pretty please with sugar on top and pink ribbon shaped sprinkles, could you donate a little (or a lot) of money to the cause?  

Thank you.

You may now click here to make that donation.

Then and Now

Then.  Circa 1976.

Now, July, 2011.

A lot has changed in 35 years.

Since the top photograph was taken, my dad and mom had four more kids.  My dad bought a miniature farm, began getting revelations from God that tipped my mother, my sister, and me upside down; lost his first wife to cancer, his second wife to a horrific car accident, his third wife to Alzheimer's., and was abused by a home-health worker.

One of these days The Jason Show will focus on exactly what it was that God revealed to my dad.

For now, my dad struggles in his battle against Parkinson's Disease, and continues unsteadily down his Idaho Highway.

Stream of Conciousness Blogging: Corn Nuts in Your Ear

All in calm on the Show front.  Our trips are over.  The grown-up Show children are in their grown-up places doing their grown-up things.  The in-laws are still in Italy for a month. It's just the three of us enjoying the serenity clanking around in this big old house.  Okay, there are five of us, if you count these two yappy creatures, who do not always invoke a sense of serentiy. 

 But most of the time they're fine.  Unless you ring the doorbell.

School has started.  I'm back to work, back with the kids, back in the trenches.  I always enjoy the first week of school, but on the other hand, at my school it kind of stinks.  This is due to a highly transient student population which causes us to reorganize classes a  week or two after school starts once we finally see who is actually attending, and we end up having to start all over again.  That is particularly a bummer because a) Sometimes kids we have grown to enjoy have to be moved to another class, and b) Rules, procedures, and pretty much the entire foundation for the year have to be addressed all over again.  Ahhhh.  No matter.  

Speaking of school, one of my new students stuck a corn nut in his ear last year and blamed it on another boy (who wouldn't hurt a fly).  He had to have it removed by a doctor.  Yes.  A corn nut. 

 I wonder what flavor?  Sometimes I think corn nuts smell like stinky feet.  I'll bet the corn nut stuck in his ear smelled bad when they pulled it out.

NEWS FLASH:  I am trying to give up Diet Coke, and essentially all soda.  In my continued effort to be healthier, I'm replacing it with iced green tea. 

 I don't like plain green tea, but I've been trying some of the fruit flavored ones and I think those are pretty tasty.    I'll let you know how it goes!  Do any of you have any successful giving up Diet Coke stories?

Speaking of giving things up: I have not eaten red meat in over six months now.  You may recall that mainly due to cholesterol issues I gave vegetarianism a whirl.  Overall, it was fine.  The hardest part was at restaurants, particularly of the fast food variety, or when going out to dinner with friends it can sometimes be difficult (like when we went to have Chinese food with some friends of ours who live on Wisteria Lane a block or two, and we ordered family style but it all had chicken, except for my dish.) So I have been eating minimal amounts of chicken and turkey.

What do I miss the most about not eating red meat?  Double cheeseburgers.  

Oh yes.    I know, I know, I could still have one once in a while, but I know myself and I know that I have to draw the line somewhere or else I won't listen to myself and then I'll sabotage myself.

Aren't you glad you stopped by The Jason Show today?  Such important stuff.

The Jason Show Goes Glamping!

It may shock you to learn that I hate camping.  Not that I've been real camping since I was a teenager, but the mere thought of it puts me on edge.  It just seems like a huge amount of work all so you can sleep on the ground and poop in brambles.  And all the dirt.  And lack of conveniences.  And so on.

Don't get me wrong.  I love nature.  I love to look at it, and to be in it.  I love fresh air and sunshine and the peace and beauty that nature has to offer. But I don't think God intended for us to sleep in it.  

Unless, that is. . .you go glamping.

Glamping is a word derived from "glamour" and "camping."  Glamping.

When you go glamping you sleep in a large, room-sized tent that has a wood floor and electricity.

 Your bed has been prepared for you with deep pillows, comfy mattresses, and crisp, fresh linens.

You get to spend time doing outdoorsy things, like playing frisbee and drinking Diet Coke.

When you go glamping, there are plenty of green, grassy open spaces that are painstakingly manicured.

If you are feint at heart and not as adventuresome as I am, you may choose to sleep in one of the available cabins with private baths and kitchenettes.

When you go glamping, you make sure that you take pictures of your co-glampers.

You take romantic walks on secluded trails. And when you get home, you photoshop the huge dark circles that were under your eyes in the picture of that romantic walk on that secluded trail.

Ahem.  Where were we?  Oh yes. . . all while listening to the babbling brook nearby.

When you go glamping, you feel giddy every time you approach the restroom facilities.

You marvel at the spaciousness of the accommodations, 

the hot, private shower,

the Earth-friendly, flushless urinals, 

and a toilet so clean you could eat off it.  If you wanted to.  

When you go glamping, you have a glamp fire that you build and light yourself.

You roast weenies.  And your son and his cousin take advantage of the opportunity to say "weenie" over and over again.

When you go glamping, you eat like a king.

Notice the Jiffy Pop and the Starburst roasting?

Almost as wonderful as the restroom accommodations, the glamping store sells a large assortment equipment and supplies that glampers might need, like fine wines.  I was indeed a happy camper.  That is, a happy glamper.

When you go glamping, you have a lot of laughs, perhaps with new friends.

And when it gets dark, you turn on the bedside lamp so you can read until you are overcome with delicious drowsiness and you fall asleep to cricket songs and hooting owls.

Good night.  Maybe next time, you can come glamping with The Jason Show, too.

---

This episode of The Jason Show was filmed here.

Losing Jennie

Last week a high school friend of mine was found dead in her car in a remote location some distance from her home.  She had been missing for two or three days.  There was no evidence of foul play, and even after an autopsy, they have been unable to determine her cause of death.  Her name was Jennie.

It is interesting, perhaps morbidly so, for me to observe other people when they are faced with the death of a friend, family member, or even acquaintance.   Everyone, of course, is entitled to their own reactions and emotional responses.  However, I could hardly believe something I read on a Facebook memorial page that has been set up for Jennie.  One classmate of ours said something like, "I dated 10 girls in high school, and now with Jennie's passing, 2 out of the 10 girls I dated are now dead."

Huh?

That was almost as good as a line I heard on The Big C (one of my favorite shows ever).  Kathy tells her friend  about her stage 4 cancer, and her friend gets very upset, crying, and then saying,
"This will be my very first friend that has died from cancer!  How am I going to handle this?"

Yes, I guess when a friend or loved one dies, we all tend to make it all about ourselves.  And I suppose I am doing the very same thing here.

Jennie could get me laughing like nobody else.  I remember crying and holding my sides almost every time we were together.  We laughed so hard, our ribs would hurt, so in mid-laugh we would force out the word "Ribs!" as tears rolled down our faces.   Her sense of humor it what I loved most about about her, though she had so many wonderful qualities.  She was bright, witty, she had a gorgeous singing voice, she was an accomplished pianist, and a mother and foster mother, to name a few.

I just reconnected with her on Facebook about a year ago, though it was on a superficial level.  I guess its impossible to really reconnect with everyone from our past.  Right?

We may never know what took Jennie.  Maybe she had her demons, as so many of us do.  Maybe not.  It doesn't matter.  She is gone and nobody will ever fill her shoes, most especially to her husband, children, and  many foster children that she had.

Thank you, Jennie, for being a special person in my life.

One last thing.  Yesterday was Jennie's birthday.  This is what her husband posted on his Facebook wall:

"Today was Jennie's birthday.  There was so much to get ready for the family and funeral, it was pretty rough.  But Adri (their daughter) made a cake and the whole family sang happy birthday to her one last time."

Our Third, Rennen

It was a special day for us all when Rennen was born, over fourteen years ago.

She is the third of the five kids that Claire, Dennis, Giancarlo, and I call "ours".  We are lucky to be spending time with her for two weeks until school starts.

Rennen loves spending time with Amelia.   Amelia loves spending time with her.

Rennen is beautiful.

 Rennen has a goofy side.  Once when she was twelve I dared her to go up to a cashier at a fast food restaurant and ask in a British accent if they had any tea and crumpets.  She did it without batting an eye.

Rennen has a quick and contagious laugh.  She melted my heart the other day when I asked her who her favorite relatives are.  After brief consideration, she said, "You guys."

Here they are.  Ours.  And we wouldn't be the same without Rennen.